


Falling

by Glyphs



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glyphs/pseuds/Glyphs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The screech of an eagle throws you from your reverie along with a sensation somewhat like falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, you get glimpses.

Often it's more of a sensation. Fingertips brushing over a feather, the way the desert's sands caress cheekbones. The steady drum of an army's beat climbing Masyaf's ancient steps and the dying resignment that comes with it.

Reflections of scarred lips that aren't _yours_ in cool marble, stone that is too perfect to exist in the real world.

But this isn't real, is it?

You feel somebody's gaze on your back (a feeling that is far too familiar, both for you and the ghosts inside this cage) but nobody is there when you turn to look. Occasionally there are lines of code that resemble figures, shapes, beings. But you know not to trust your senses, not any more. The sixth has not developed yet. That's what the spectre said, right?

There isn't much you remember from before this time - was there ever a time before this? - and even then you can't tell if they are your memories or not. A gentle touch on the arm, maps and pages reflected against prescription lenses, gentle humming joining the quick gliding of fingers over keys.

The world spinning as a blade plunges through leather and skin and bone.

The screech of an eagle throws you from your reverie along with a sensation somewhat like falling. You slowly open your eyes and are confronted with the same scene as usual as you lie with your back against the impossible surfaces inside your mind.

Or is it the Animus? Animuses? Animi?

Which is it, Lucy?


	2. Chapter 2

He finally shows himself, lines of code dancing across the shore with eyes as hard as steel and a crooked smile across cracked lips. Clay. You almost laugh at how appropriate his name is - solid, stable, yet so easily broken.

The ghost in the machine tells your tale, sweeping his hands as he laces the story of your imminent demise with a cordial tone and a mischievous smirk. You find it difficult to care, static clouding your mind as it wanders through centuries with a hop, skip, and a jump from Rome to Jerusalem. Arabic threatens to swirl itself around your tongue like the haze of smoke from the bar you once tended to. Was that in your lifetime or theirs?

Your compatriot seems to notice, pausing his tyrade and tilting his head slightly with a sympathetic grimace. He pieced himself back together, apparently, simply a mirage of the man who painted his magnum opus on the walls of Abstergo. You've never been an artist, but you think your mind may have swerved in the same direction as your predecessor's did.

You assure him that you are fine, as you follow him to the large stone gateway stood upon the centre of the isle.


End file.
